


Sunshine

by MacShellyMac



Category: Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Dad Nevada, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, Murder, dad!Nevada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4104358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacShellyMac/pseuds/MacShellyMac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nevada Ramirez struggles with becoming a single father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frillions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frillions/gifts).



> Commissioned fic, but one I really enjoyed. Hopefully you all will as well. <3  
> Still not completely sure about the title, so it may change.  
> Translations in the end notes.

He stood at his window, looking down from the 30th story, watching but not really paying all that much attention to the city that was laid out below him. It was a city he loved, the only city he’s ever really known. As familiar as the back of his hand and one that he owned. He knew he did. Every corner, he knew. Every street, he knew. And everywhere he went, everyone knew his name.

_I heard he likes to kick back and watch as his men do the dirty work._

That was true. Why should he get his hands bloody when he had three giant brutes to help him out? He gave the orders, and then he made sure the task was carried through correctly.

_I heard he carries different guns for different jobs, each with their own name._

That was partially true. He did have a name for his gun, but there was only one. It was a little black pistol and he called it Fontana, after the artist Lucio Fontana, a man who had a habit of carving slits into canvases and calling it art.

_I heard he has people mix crack into his marijuana to assure regular customers._

That wasn’t true. He even made sure his drugs weren’t laced with anything else. There was no need for someone to want to take some weed to relax and end up jumping off a building because they thought they could fly. He liked his inventory to be completely authentic and trustworthy. Well, as trustworthy as drugs can get.

The things he heard didn’t get to him and they didn’t upset him. They never had. He used to enjoy the banter, the rumours. They made him laugh. He loved watching the colour drain from people’s faces when his car pulled up in front of a building. He loved hearing their change in tone of voice when they realized that they were talking to _him_ and not some random stranger. It was a constant reminder of his power, and it made him feel so in control that he didn’t even have to take any drugs to feel the high.

But Nevada Ramirez no longer felt like he owned the city, no matter how many people were afraid of him. He stopped listening to the rumours that used to entertain him. It didn’t matter that he was still getting special treatment everywhere he went because he barely even felt like he owned the apartment he was standing in. Everything felt distant and alien and strange. It made him sick.

He sighed and stretched his arms over his head, arching his spine and rolling his head back. The action resulted in sounds of some cracks from his tired bones. It was late and he was exhausted, not having slept in days. Reluctantly and unenthusiastically, he turned from the window, looking across the dark room, which was illuminated only slightly by the full moon in the otherwise pitch-black sky and the lights from other buildings outside. They left a cool, white light that shone on the smooth surface of the tables and along the edges of the leather couches.

Leather couches were a really good idea. Not only did they look amazing but they also never got dirty because they were basically stain-proof. It was her idea, of course, just like most of the great ideas they had were her ideas. He never used to admit that; he liked to pretend that they both came up with the idea and she just happened to voice it before he did. Now, he wasn’t afraid of saying it. He wasn’t afraid of giving her all the credit she needed. He had absolutely no problem saying that she was a genius, a master, indescribable, unattainable, intelligent, irresistible, hilarious, amazing… He didn’t care what other people thought and he didn’t care if he sounded like a complete moron. She was phenomenal and anyone would have been lucky to have even the knowledge of her existence.

God, he missed her.

Everything in the apartment reminded him of her. Every single fucking thing. They had argued over the carpet. He had loved it when they first saw it, only to have her scrunch her nose at him. He said that the golden colour looked regal but she called it tacky. They fought about it right then and there inside the store and she wasn’t shy about raising her voice to him. Usually, she didn’t lose arguments like this, even with the salesperson siding against her, but she had suddenly felt sick and had to find a bathroom. In the meantime, Nevada had quickly paid the price and gotten the carpet packed up for him. Needless to say, she had been furious with him. She called him a very unladylike name and then stopped speaking to him for two and a half days.

The look on her face made him smile even now. The anger and frustration obvious, but if he looked close enough, he could find her love for him. Beneath the tight line of her lips, behind the narrowed eyes, behind the jutted out jaw, it was there. The way she still let him have the last one of the _doditos de novia._ The way she sat with him in silence instead of avoiding him altogether. The way she looked at him worriedly before he went off to a meeting with a rival gang. It was there. She loved him. He could see it.

She had the blackest eyes he had ever seen, with natural dark circles that didn’t go away no matter how much she slept. She kept her hair long, down to her waist, and often had it in a messy bun on the top of her head. She was thin, but she was strong. Her smile was the most amazing thing he’d ever had the pleasure of beholding. The two of them argued all the time and she never let him win. It had taken him months to learn that the way to earn her forgiveness was to listen to what she had to say. It was so new to him, having been accustomed to buying flowers and sweets for the girls he upset, and doing so only so they would let him in their pants one more time.

She had stolen his heart. Yanked it away from him, even though he had his guards up, and refused to give it back no matter how much he fought her. It took ages for the shock to wear off, but she found her place in the length of his neck. She curled her body against his and made a home out of his ribs, and Nevada had been so sure that she would turn that home into a cage where she could keep him forever. But she never did. She invited him in with her light-heartedness and blind optimism and kept coming back no matter how much he fucked up or let her down. She showed him a brand new world that existed in the nest of her arms and he fell in love with her without even knowing the meaning of the word.

 _Good god,_ he missed her.

Nevada was so lost in thought that it took a moment before he realized that the sound of crying was coming from the next room.

 _Shit_ , he thought, quickly making his way through the dark room and trying not to trip. He opened the bedroom door quietly as he could and made his way over to the crib. He could hear the rustling fabric from underneath the tiny, squirming body. He’d thought that all babies were supposed to be loud and annoying, but this one barely made a sound. Nevada was constantly worried that he wouldn’t hear when he cried, or heard him too late. Sighing, he picked up the infant slowly, carefully, and cradled him in his arms.

“It’s okay, _mi sol,_ it’s okay,” he whispered, hugging the baby against his chest and rocking him slowly back and forth, but the baby wasn’t comforted in his arms. His cries didn’t die down and he didn’t stop writhing. “Please, _mi sol_.”

Taking a handful of deep breaths, Nevada set him down and raced to the kitchen. Maybe he just needed some milk! He mixed the formula and popped it into the microwave, but then it was too hot so he had to try again. Meanwhile, the baby’s soft cries only seemed to get louder and louder. They rang in Nevada’s ears like his mother’s screams still did. Would it be like this forever?

 _Fuck,_ he couldn’t think of that right now. Right now, he needed to feed his son ( _mierda,_ it still felt so damn weird to say that). After getting a bottle made at the right temperature, he rushed back to the nursery, stubbing his toe against the counter on the way there. He scooped the baby into his arms, sat at the rocking chair in the corner, and pressed the nipple against his mouth. The baby immediately started drinking and Nevada sighed in relief. How the hell was he supposed to do this by himself? How was he supposed to take care of an entire human being? Sure, he was in charge of hundreds of men, but not like this. Not like this…

His name was Hugo. He was only six pounds when he was born. Nevada was worried that something was wrong. Babies were small but not _that_ small, right? The soft spot on his head nearly gave him a heart attack but the nurse assured him that it was completely fine, that it was supposed to be there. She then helped Nevada to sit at the chair, adjusted his arms to a more comfortable position, and smiled at him (women had been doing that a lot since they found out that he was a father). “He looks like his mother, doesn’t he?” she remarked.

Nevada smiled in spite of himself. “ _Si._ He does.”

He had the same pitch-black eyes, the same wide, pouty lips, and the same round nose. He got Nevada’s chin and cheeks.

“Do you think he’s going to be a heartbreaker like his _papá_?”

Nevada looked at the woman lying in the hospital bed. She was exhausted and had trouble moving, and yet she still smiled at him.

“You’re awake,” said Nevada, getting up to sit on the bed next to her. “How’re you feeling?”

She reached up with her hand, the one not hooked to the IV, and stroked his arm. “I’m wonderful, _preciosa_.”

“Are you sure? Because I can get the nurse if you need anything at all—”

“I’m sure. Thank you, Nevada.”

He smiled at her, then looked back at Hugo. They had argued over the name for eight months and it was only the week before she went into labour that they had picked one. Hugo, like the composer Hugo Wolf, like the poet Hugo Ball, like the philosopher Hugo Grotius. Plus, it was easy to pronounce.

“He is so small,” Nevada murmured, unable to look away from the sleeping pink bundle in his arms.

“You were that small once.”

He looked at her. “Wrong,” he said. “I was always this tall.”

Hugo started crying then and Nevada handed him to his mother, who lifted her shirt in order to feed him. Nevada shifted in his spot on the bed, a bit uncomfortable but knowing he had to get used to it, as well as all the other uncomfortable tasks that accompanied being a parent. He stared at his hands for a while before asking hesitantly, “I didn’t ever break your heart, did I?” he looked at her carefully and she smiled at him.

“Not recently,” she said.

When he glared at her, she scrunched her nose at him. “You aren’t allowed to be mad at me, Nevada,” she said. “I just gave birth to your baby. Being angry is forbidden today.”

He chuckled and kissed her, careful not to squish Hugo as he leaned in. “ _Te amo_ , Alma,” he said.

“ _Te amo también,_ Nevada,” she said.

The change in pressure brought his mind back to the present. Nevada looked down to see that Hugo had finished with the bottle and was now dozing off again. He held the baby up against his shoulder like Alma had showed him and when the burp came, Nevada lowered him down to his crib again.

It was four in the morning and his sister Maria would be over in five hours to babysit while Nevada looked for a nanny. He needed someone perfect, but he knew he wouldn’t find it. Alma had been perfect, more than perfect. She was what he needed but she was gone so why bother even looking?

He dragged his feet back out of the nursery and into the living room. He left the door open, even though the baby monitor was on. Couldn’t be too careful.

He sank into the couch, pulling the blanket over himself and trying to find a comfortable position. He tossed and turned for over an hour before finally collapsing into a sleep fuelled only by utter and complete exhaustion. One leg was off the couch completely and his arm was thrown over the back. The couch itself gave him a bad back and the leather took forever to warm up under his body, leaving him shivering for most of the night. The spaces in between the cushions caused his body to mould to it in awkward positions and the length of his body was longer than the length of the couch. It was uncomfortable and it caused aching muscles but the only other option he had was to sleep in his bedroom.

In the king-sized bed with a cold space where Alma used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mi sol – my Sun  
> Mierda – shit  
> Preciosa – precious  
> Te amo – I love you  
> Te amo también – I love you, too


	2. Chapter 2

The first night that Alma was home from the hospital, she woke Nevada up in the middle of the night because she wouldn’t top tossing and turning. She went from lying on her stomach to curling up into a ball to having one leg hanging off the side of the bed. Multiple times, she rolled over to Nevada’s side and left him to lie on the edge of the mattress, trying not to fall off. It was quite the accomplishment, considering the bed was gigantic and he was bigger than she was. At one point in the night, Alma had her leg thrown across Nevada’s thighs. Suddenly, she turned, grabbed the sheets and rolled away from him completely.

 _Okay, that’s enough_ , thought Nevada. He reached out as she rolled away, wrapping his arms tightly around her stomach, and pulled her back against him. She startled awake and looked at him over her shoulder. “Hi,” she said, smiling sleepily at him.

Nevada looked down at her, displeased. “You’re really restless tonight.”

Alma rolled her eyes at him but settled into the warmth of his arms. “You have no idea how amazing it feels to be able to sleep however you want after nine months on your side,” she said.

He buried his face in her neck. “Sounds like torture,” he mumbled as he placed kisses against her warm skin.

“Shut up, it was,” she said, not amused.

“Okay,” he said unconvincingly, resulting in Alma elbowing him in the ribs. “Ouch!”

“Oh, you think that hurt? Try childbirth.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be affectionate.”

“Then stop talking and just stick with cuddling,” Alma said, pulling away from him slightly so she could turn over in his arms. Nevada pulled her against him again once she was facing him.

“Feels good to be able to do this again,” he murmured against her hair.

“You’re telling me,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his torso and trailing kisses along his collarbone.

It was when the two of them had settled into a comfortable position, their breaths synchronized and their legs tangled, that Hugo’s wails came through the baby monitor. Alma sighed and moved to stand, but Nevada stopped her.

“I’ll go,” he said, rolling lazily out of bed. He walked into the nursery where Hugo slept and pulled him out of the crib. “There, there, _mi amor_ ,” he whispered to the baby as he rocked him in his arms. He settled down for a moment and Nevada grinned triumphantly, only to have Hugo start crying even louder.

 _Why is this not working?_ Nevada called out for Alma to come and help him and moments later, she was at the door in her oversized t-shirt, her arms crossed over her chest. “You don’t need to yell, _cariño,_ ” she said, “I can hear everything through the monitor.”

“Well, can you hear that your son clearly hates me?” answered Nevada, holding out the squirming baby.

“He’s your son, too,” said Alma, taking Hugo into her arms and hugging him to her chest. “He can tell you’re scared, and that scares him.”

“The kid’s four days old, I doubt he can sense anything other than hunger,” grumbled Nevada. “He likes you more than he likes me,” he added quietly after a short pause.

“That’s because he knows me better,” she said simply. “Nine months is a long time, babe. Besides, you like me more than you like him.”

Nevada chewed on his bottom lip, not wanting to admit it but knowing it was true. He resisted the urge to make a mocking comment about her being a know-it-all, which was something that always bothered her because she knew it was true. Instead, he shrugged, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “I guess I just need to know him better,” he said after a long pause.

Alma looked at him seriously, giving him a look that he knew well. One that meant she was telling what she believed to be the absolute, immovable truth. “One day, you’ll love him much more than you could ever love me,” she said.

The words sent chills up Nevada’s spine. He took a deep breath and shook his head. _I don’t know if I’m capable of that_ , he almost said aloud, but he bit his tongue. Instead he told her what he believed to be the absolute, immovable truth. Something he had trouble saying most of the time, but something that she knew very well. “I love you more than I love anything, Alma.”

She looked at him briefly, almost sadly, but she didn’t reply, instead focusing her attention to the crying infant in her arms. Nevada watched as his cries died down slowly and he drifted back to sleep. It was incredible, really, and Alma looked as beautiful as ever. The dark circles under her eyes were nearly black and her shoulders were slumped from all that she’d been through this past week. Her skin was dry, her lips were chapped, and her hair was a complete mess, and yet she still looked like the Sun in Nevada’s eyes. She had gained some weight due to the pregnancy. It wasn’t much, but her hips looked wider and her cheeks looked chubbier. Her breasts were large because she was feeding, and her stomach stuck out more than it used to. Her arms were still slim, but there was a layer of skin along her neck and under her chin that hadn’t been there before. It was an interesting change. Through the years that he had known her, she’d always looked the exact same as she always had, the only changes occurring with new makeup and hair trends that she loved. But even now, with the baby having changed her body so much, she still looked like herself.

She caught him staring. “What?”

Nevada smiled. “Nothing,” he said.

She gave him a reluctant smile before lowering Hugo back into the crib. “Come on,” she said, reaching out with her hands to take his. “We both need some rest.”

They never spoke of that conversation after that night, but it lingered. It clung, adding heaviness to the thin air in the apartment. But it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was comforting. After years of talking, the two of them settled into a quiet peace. They could sit for hours together without saying a word to each other and just enjoying the other’s company. It was new and different and he never would have anticipated how much he could love something like it.

Nevada loved watching her with Hugo. At first glance, she seemed so relaxed, as if she knew exactly how to take care of a child, as if she’d done it a hundred times, but he could sense the underlying panic. It was present in the way she moved. When Hugo cried, she would walk to his crib at a normal pace but the way she placed her feet gave away how much she wanted to run like mad to the other room. Her fingers shook when she poured formula into his bottle. Her shirt would sometimes catch on her fingers when she lifted her shirt to feed him.

It was endearing, and also quite amusing.

Alma slept a lot during the first week she was home from the hospital. It was an interesting change. She usually was constantly finding something to do. She was a restless person and not being busy bothered her but when Hugo was sleeping, which was a _lot_ , so was she. When Nevada expressed his concern for her wellbeing, she shrugged him off unworriedly.

“I’m just tired,” she said. “I’ll be back to my old self in no time.”

And for that short time between the beginning of Hugo’s second week and the end of his fourth, she did go back to her old self. The Alma he’d fallen for. The one who would burn the pork and always cook the rice too much. The woman who would sing to herself without even realizing it. The one who would hide his gun when she got mad at him and the one who wouldn’t let him kiss her right after he smoked. The one who called him her reckless _vida,_ which she thought was very clever considering meeting him had made her life completely wild.

She was a pain in the ass, really, but dear god, he loved her more than he could even begin to express. Nevada guessed that it was good, then, that Hugo had her eyes. A part of her lived inside Hugo no matter what, but it was nice to be able to see it so lucidly.

The loud knocking on the door was what dragged Nevada out of his thoughts. He opened the door, hurriedly gesturing the two men inside. “Hugo’s asleep, you _pendejos._ How about next time you just set fireworks off outside the door,” he said angrily. “It’d be quieter.”

“Sorry, Nevada, but we’d been knocking for the past six minutes,” said Ian sheepishly.

“Seven, actually,” said Gael, but he dropped his head at Nevada’s cold stare.

The two men sat in the living room, on the couch as Nevada lay back in his reclining chair with his eyes closed. They were both too scared of saying anything to him about how exhausted he looked for he might rip their heads off completely, but there were bags under his red eyes and they could swear there was more grey in his hair than there was the last time they saw him.

“So tell me,” he muttered.

The men exchanged a nervous glance before Gael spoke. “We know who it was. According to Sammy, the guys were—”

“Alessandro’s men,” interrupted Nevada. “I knew that already. They all have the same piercings. What else?”

Gael frowned but continued. “They found her when she was—”

“On her way back from her _abuela_ ’s.”

“And they grabbed her and—”

“I know very well what they did, you _hijos de puta_ ,” Nevada snapped suddenly, sitting upright in his chair. “What I want to know whether or not you took care of it like I asked you to.” When his demand was met with silence, he huffed and brought his hand to his forehead. “I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered.

“We’ve been trying, Nevada,” started Ian, speaking quietly and carefully, “but all of their properties are under heavy surveillance.”

“Yea, especially now that they know we’re after them,” added Gael.

“You’re both pathetic,” Nevada said, leaning back into his chair and putting his arms on the armrests. “I gave you one _simple_ task. Just one. Do I ask too much of you or something?”

They quickly shook their heads. “No, sir,” they mumbled.

“Do I not pay you enough?” Asked Nevada, slightly louder than before.

“No, sir”

“Are you not happy with the living arrangements I have provided for you?”

“We are, sir.”

“Then why the fuck aren’t you doing as you were told?!” He shouted suddenly, his hands curling into fists against the leather chair. “It’s fucking child’s play! Find Alessandro and slit his fucking throat, what about that is so hard to understand!? I don’t remember stuttering—”

Ian and Gael both resisted the urge to sigh in relief when Hugo’s cries were heard from the other room. Nevada immediately stopped yelling and took a deep breath. “Fuck,” he uttered, more to himself than to anyone else. Rubbing his temple with his fingers, he gestured the men towards the door with his other hand. “Get out,” he said. “But I expect you to deal with this shit before I slit one of _your_ throats just to show you how it’s done.”

“Yes, sir,” grumbled the men as they slung out the apartment with their heads hanging.

As soon as the door was closed behind them, Nevada let out a deep breath. His shoulders slumped as he made his way to Hugo’s room. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew that this wouldn’t be easy. How the hell was he supposed to run his business and take care of a child? That was supposed to be Alma’s job. She was going to take care of the kid and he was going to bring home the millions so that Hugo could have a well-rounded life (despite what his father does).

It’s not like Nevada could leave José in charge forever, no matter how much he trusted the man, but it’s not like he could take Hugo on business with him. Sure, he could always get help from Maria but it wouldn’t be fair to place on her the role of raising his child. He also didn’t trust a stranger enough to hire a nanny.

But he could think about that later. Right now, Hugo needed his diaper changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pendejos - assholes  
> Abuela – grandmother  
> Hijos de puta – sons of bitches  
> Vida - life


	3. Chapter 3

She was a know-it-all to the point of it being exhausting. She always had something to say about everything and anything. She had this look in her eyes, one that would communicate to him that she was right and, more importantly, that he was wrong. He could almost hear her laughing from her grave. Six feet underground, being eaten away by worms and leeches, laying motionless under the fallen, rotting wood of the most expensive casket Nevada could find. But still, she’d be laughing.

Even though she was dead, Alma was still right. Looking around his apartment at all of Hugo’s things, Nevada felt that strange but familiar swirling feeling in his chest. It was the one he had when Alma agreed to move in with him. It was the one he had when she held his hand under the table when he met her father for the first time. It was the one he had when she wrapped her thin arms around him and tried so hard to cover him with her tiny body. The one he had when her stomach swelled and the one he had when she lay sleeping in that hospital bed.

It was love. And he loved Hugo so, so, _so_ much. He never thought he would be able to love anyone other than Alma, let alone more than her, and the thought did always send a pang of guilt through him when he thought about it. She was supposed to be his everything. She was supposed to be the one he loved more than anything and the one he died loving. He will still die loving her, but everything was different now. The love he had for his son was immeasurable compared to anything he’d ever experienced. He loved Hugo so much, and it did help that he imagined Alma up in some cloud, smirking and raising her brow at him. She had always made a point to never verbally say ‘I told you so.’ She’d always rather gloat silently and have Nevada look and feel stupid.

When Hugo was still a newborn, he would wrap his tiny hands around Nevada’s pinkie, his little fingers too small to even wrap around completely. It wasn’t new. He did it to everyone. But when Hugo was seven weeks old, he looked at Nevada differently than he had before. He looked at him for a while, so long that Nevada had begun to grow worried that something was wrong, but then the corners of Hugo’s mouth curved into a smile, his nose scrunching like Alma’s used to.

After that moment, a connection appeared between the father and the son, one that was different than the one they already had. It was more than them being connected by blood; it was about them connecting in a way that Nevada could never even begin to explain.

Three-month-old Hugo would scan the room for Nevada. He would check every few minutes and was usually able to fid his father with ease, but if Nevada was nowhere to be found for too long, he would start screaming and not stop until he was picked up and held to his father’s chest. It was exhausting, but it filled Nevada’s heart with joy. It felt amazing to be, not just needed, but wanted again.

Four-month-old Hugo was making a lot of sounds. Standard baby talk, it was. The _ah-ga-wah_ s and the _goo-eeee_ s and the _ma-meh-mah_ s were heard throughout the day and filled the large, open apartment with echoing sounds of ignorant, blissful happiness. It brought a voice into his home. He’d gotten so used to having Alma around that it felt so weird to live in the quiet again, so when Hugo spoke, even though it was random and meaningless, it made the apartment feel less empty and lonely. Nevada swore that he’d heard him say Alma one night after dinner. Maybe not Alma, per say, but “Ah-mah,” which was pretty fucking close. It was written down in the book of firsts as Hugo’s first word.

Five-month-old Hugo liked to play and chew on the sofa’s decorative pillows. The bright colours and contrasting patterns attracted him, and he would roll around the floor with them clutched to his chest. He was sitting up fine, but he preferred to lay down and just roll from place to place. Nevada had to be careful not to step on him; Hugo often managed to get himself from one corner of the room to another. The baby gates had to be installed months earlier than anticipated and Nevada could not have been more proud.

Six-month-old Hugo loved his food. He’d been eating solids for two months, but for some reason, his love for them grew. Alma had planned on making food for Hugo herself with fresh vegetables, but Nevada stuck with store-bought baby food. He made the mistake of letting Hugo try some of his split pea soup, and that was the end of it. After that, the baby flat out refused to go back to premade baby food and Nevada had to cook everything for him (not that it took very long and not that he actually minded, but Nevada liked to complain about it anyway). Hugo got much chubbier, and his fingers got adorably fat. Nevada couldn’t seem to stop kissing them.

Seven-month-old Hugo was attached to an old sweater. He’d begun sleeping with it in his arms and would constantly play with it. Nevada had, on multiple occasions, found him with his face buried in the soft, loose fabric of the sweater. Most of the time, Hugo was loud and liked to bang on pots and pans. He liked to crawl over the toys lain on the floor and he liked to pull himself up onto his feet by the arm of the sofas. He was active and restless most of the time and didn’t like to sit still, but he loved that sweater so _fucking_ much. It was bittersweet to see it. Hugo was so much like Alma already, in that had been completely unexpected. One day, when he was missing her more than usual, Nevada pulled out the sweater, her favourite one, from their closet. If he buried his nose deep in it and scrunched his eyes shut and concentrated really hard, he could almost smell her in between the knitted fabric. Hugo just gravitated towards it. It was like he could sense his mother in between the stitches.

Eight-month-old Hugo knew the meaning of no. He would freeze and stare at his father when he heard the word coming from his mouth. He didn’t always listen, so Nevada sometimes would have to go and grab him before he reached the electric socket/heated oven/opened dishwasher. This, of course, caused Hugo to cry. Alma always said that the only way for babies to learn to behave is for their parents to not give into their every whim. Nevada always tried to ignore Hugo’s wails, but it was hard to do and made him feel like a shitty father. Instead, he opted for distracting him with the TV remote (his secret weapon, used only in emergencies).

Nine-month-old Hugo was taking steps. He was earlier than normal babies at this. One step, two steps, then he would fall to his knees. Sometimes, he would get up and try again but other times he was tired and would just crawl to his destination instead. The more he walked, the better he got at it, but he couldn’t figure out how to turn just yet, only walk in a straight line so when he wanted to turn, he would purposely fall back onto his butt, then stand facing the direction he wanted to go. One evening, Nevada was on the phone with José about a crucial delivery. He wasn’t yelling, but his voice was strained and his fist was resting hard against the wall. Suddenly, he felt something against his calf. When he saw that Hugo had walked from the living room to the kitchen just to wrap his small arms around his father’s leg, every one of Nevada’s worries just seemed to dissolve into thin air. He hung up the phone and spent the rest of the day playing with his son.

Ten-month-old Hugo laughed a lot. He laughed at himself in the mirror and he laughed at the faces his father made and he laughed at _the Bubble Guppies_ and he laughed at his toy keyboard’s bright colours. He loved to grab things and feel their texture. Nevada left a cigar out one morning and Hugo somehow got a hold of it. It was in pieces all over the floor before long and Nevada rushed him to the emergency room, terrified that some had been swallowed. Luckily, he was safe, but Nevada threw out all his cigars when he got home. “You aren’t even a year old yet but you’re already trying to give your old man a heart attack!” The scolding made Hugo laugh.

Eleven-month-old Hugo loved music. He _loved_ it. The radio was constantly on, blasting music throughout the apartment. The really upbeat songs made him dance. Hugo would grab onto the sofa or to a chair or a wall, and bop up and down, side to side. He loved playing with his toy xylophone and sometimes, Nevada danced with him. He wasn’t the best dancer, even though he loved to go to clubs and dance. Alma had always helped his movements along. She would have loved to dance with Hugo. He could picture her scooping him up and spinning him around as he giggled.

On the days that Nevada woke before Hugo, he would go to the nursery and look into the crib. If the baby smiled in his sleep, it meant the day would be a good one. Maria came to babysit when she could and other times, Hugo was dropped at mama Ramirez’s house. The strange thing was that, even though Nevada’s focus would be on his work and his business, he would still miss Hugo. Hugo was constantly on his mind, whether the thought was more primary or whether it was lurking in the shadows in the back of his head.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment that Nevada fell in love all over again, but there was no denying that it happened, just as Alma had known it would. The apartment that had felt so empty after her death felt like home.

Twelve-month-old Hugo was taking a nap. It sounded appealing, indeed, but Nevada needed to sort through things. His living room was littered with presents from Hugo’s enormous first birthday party from the day before. It was a barbeque at the park. Nevada had reserved a large lot to hold a private party for 40 close friends and family, plus a handful of good clients and one or two rivals. Hugo played with Dolly’s two-year-old daughter. He chased her around the grassy fields as the five-year-olds played Simon Says.

When the Sun set and the food was ingested, those who had stuck around after the party had reached its climax all sat in a circle and talked and talked. They asked Nevada how Alma had told him that she was pregnant and he had shrugged. “She just told me when I came home one night.”

They didn’t let it go, pressing on until Nevada elaborated.

“She’d been really nervous. She hadn’t known how I would react,” he confessed. “I can’t really blame her, can I? I don’t exactly scream _father material_ now, do I?”

The family laughed.

“But when she told me, I wasn’t upset,” he continued. “I wasn’t all that excited about the idea, but I was fine with it.”

“How do you feel now, though?” someone clueless had asked.

“Now, I fucking love my son,” Nevada said, harsher than he had intended. “How else would I feel?”

The subject was dropped and they all instead moved onto embarrassing childhood memories, for which Nevada was thankful, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about Alma. She was on his mind a lot, but he always tried his hardest to think of the good memories that he had of her. And he liked to remember small details about her in order to preserve her as much as possible: the way she chewed on the inside of her cheek when she was concentrating. The way she would throw her hair on top of her head effortlessly and acted like she didn’t notice him watching her. The way her hips swayed when she walked. The way she looked when she walked around in her underwear (not sexy, but comfy). He should have taken more pictures of her when they were together.

It was a cold night in early November and Nevada came home to Alma doing Sudoku puzzles at the dining table. He’d frowned when he came in. He knew she had an early day at work in the morning, so something bad must have happened. The colour drained from her face when she looked at him and he had rushed to her side. “What’s wrong, _cariño_?”

“Nothing, nothing…” she had said, pushing him away and standing. “I just…have some news to tell you.”

Nevada frowned at her. She was nervous, but also…happy? Or hopeful, maybe? “What’s going on?’ he asked.

“I went to the doctor’s today,” she started. “I’m fine, though!” she added quickly when she saw his muscles tense up. “I’m just… We…” she took a deep breath. “I am having a baby.”

The air was thick with tension and it felt like the pause that followed was hours long. “You’re… pregnant.” Nevada finally repeated, monotonously.

“Three weeks.” Alma confirmed, frowning at his lack of emotion. “I know this wasn’t planned and I know it’s not what you want,” she said softly, the hope gone from her voice and replaced by disappointment. “I understand if you want to end things. I’ll just—”

Nevada interrupted her, not wanting her to even think such things, let alone say them aloud, let alone say them to _him_. “End things? Are you crazy?”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “Don’t you… want to?”

“No…”

She stared at him, unblinking as he slowly approached her. He took her face in his large hands and kissed her lips, a slow, soft kiss that lasted minutes, or maybe hours. It didn’t heat up or progress into anything more. It was a kiss that gave them both butterflies and had heat and intensity without any thought of sex. Alma’s hands rested lightly at Nevada’s waist, her fingers tangled with the fabric of his shirt.

“Alma?”

“Yes?”

“You’re happy?”

She paused, licked her lips, and looked up into his eyes. “I am,” she said.

Nevada smiled. “Then so am I,” he said. “We’ll figure this out. You don’t have a reason to be scared.”

She wrapped her arms tightly around his torso as he pulled her close to him. “I’m not worried,” she sighed into his chest. “Not anymore.”

That conversation took place nearly two years ago, but Nevada could still clearly picture her sitting in the dining table. It was the same spot that he sat at when she left the apartment for the last time.

She was going to her _abuela_ ’s to drop off Hugo for a couple of hours and she was supposed to come back before he left for his meeting so they could spend an hour or so together before they both had to go to their work. When she didn’t return, he assumed that _abuela_ convinced her to stay over for a while, and so he left to go to his meeting.

Alma wasn’t supposed to be there. She wasn’t supposed to be there, she was supposed to be safe.

When the meeting turned sour, Alessandro snapped his fingers and two of his men pulled a very frightened Alma out from a storage room. She had some scratches and some bruises, but Nevada could tell that they were from her struggling.

 _No._ She was _not_ supposed to be there!!

It wasn’t the first time she had been used to get to him, but this was different. Alessandro wasn’t like the others. He liked to use people as punishment, not as a means to an end. He dragged Alma by the arm and pushed her down to her knees. The next second felt like an eternity and Nevada hated himself for not having enough time to open his mouth, to agree to pay Alessandro whatever sum he wanted. He would have given anything, _anything_ , but there wasn’t enough time. His eyes locked with hers, so frightened but still filled with love for him, for Hugo, for their family.

Nevada dropped to his knees as Alma fell from hers. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember if his screams actually happened or if he had imagined them playing in his head.

There was nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing. Her heart had burst. There was blood everywhere. He held her to him, clutching her trembling body tightly to his chest as Alessandro and his men evacuated the abandoned warehouse, leaving their bloody footprints all around Nevada.

Alma stared into his eyes until the life left her body. He saw, he _felt_ the exact moment when he knew she wasn’t looking at him anymore, and that he was staring into lifeless eyes.

Her trembles ceased and her gasps stopped but the bleeding never seemed to.

"I love you, Alma," he gasped between his sobs. He couldn't fucking breathe. Why couldn't he breathe?! "I love you."


	4. Chapter 4

He didn’t tell her how he felt much. It’d always been hard for him to let those words fall out of his mouth. They made him feel weak, but Alma convinced him that it wasn’t about weakness but rather vulnerability. She asked him he thought she was weak for being able to tell him how she felt so openly.

“But that’s different,” he had argued.

“Why? Because I’m a woman and you’re a man?”

“Well, yea.”

That had been a big mistake on his part. Alma stopped speaking with him for three days and wouldn’t accept his apology until he “understood the misogynistic nature of his comment.”

“I’m a drug dealer, Alma, what do you expect from me?”

“I didn’t realize thinking of women as weaklings was a job requirement.”

He’d constantly wonder how it was that he ended up with someone like her. He never had thought he would be with someone so hot headed and strong, yet simultaneously mellow and sensitive.

After the dust had settled and she’d come back to him, he let her know that he loved her with his actions. He’d said it a handful of times before, but it still felt strange for him to say it out loud, especially unprompted. He showed her he loved her by doing little things like kissing her awake every morning and putting the dishes in the sink like she always had asked him to.

The words _I love you_ were so much easier for her to say. They rolled off her tongue like her own name did. When he heard her muttering in her sleep, a string of three syllables would catch his attention and her voice was so muddled that he’d imagine her saying the things that he couldn’t admit he wanted to hear. _I love you. Stay with me. I need you. My vida. Nevada._

But he was sure he was just hearing it.

She said that she loved him whenever she kissed him goodbye in the morning and he would smile wordlessly in response. She would give him a knowing smile and, depending on their schedules, either push him out the door, pinching his ass for good measure, or back into the hallway, closing the front door with a flourish as she left.

Nevada hid his love well, but Alma knew where to find it. She knew which heartstrings to pull on, and just how to look at him to make him melt into her. Hers was out for the whole world to see but she didn’t mind it. He couldn’t remember which of the times she said _I love you_ to him was the last time she said it. Was it after breakfast or did she say it as she walked out the front door? And was she saying it to him or saying it to Hugo? Did texts count? Did she call him that day? It’s funny how little he remembered about that day before her death. It’d felt like an ordinary day. Should he have known something was going to go wrong? Had she felt that way?

The first time that both Alma and Nevada had a day off while Hugo was away at his grandmother’s, Nevada had planned a big day for the two of them: restaurants, parties, galleries, clubs, bands. He’d had to cancel it all, though, because Alma insisted on spending the entire day in bed and despite his complaints, Nevada ended up really enjoying himself.

They spent hours rolling around on the pillow-top mattress, their bodies tangled and sinking into the softness. Their breath felt warm and sticky on each other’s skin and one’s leg would fall asleep and the other would get an accidental elbow in the ribs. But it was still very nice. They lay with their arms around each other. They watched a movie. They talked. They ate delivery. They did some naughty things. But mostly, they kissed.

Not a lot of talking. A lot of kissing and sighing and snuggling and rolling around. “I love you, Nevada,” she whispered at one point in the breath between kisses.

“I know,” he said.

And, god, he loved her, too.

 

Hugo was two years old. He walked. He talked. He didn’t talk too much, but he knew a lot of words and a combination of many. He knew how to count to five in Spanish and he knew the words _mi sol._ He thought they were synonymous to his name and he answered to both.

He was endlessly entranced by the texture of his father’s leather jackets. He liked the shine and the coldness of the fabric and Nevada bought one for him. Hugo loved it a lot, but he wasn’t happy about how it didn’t breathe so he would only keep it on in the evenings and the cooler seasons.

He loved candy cigarettes. Nevada tried his hardest to avoid smoking near him, but sometimes Hugo caught him with an unlit cig dangling forgotten between his lips. He’d reach for it and cry when Nevada put it away.

“Yea, yea, I’m the bad guy here,” Nevada would mutter as his son screeched.

The candy cigarettes had been an enormous help since then. Nevada also bought for Hugo a pair of child’s sunglasses. There were days where he would dress himself and Hugo up so that they would match—leather jackets and sunglasses and cigarettes (Nevada’s unlit, Hugo’s candy) in their mouths. Nevada felt a rush of happiness and pride when he walked down the street like that with Hugo in his arms.

He never once hesitated to tell Hugo that he loved him. He said it daily, he said it softly. He knew that it would change when Hugo got older, when he turned into a twelve-year-old brat or a 16-year-old pseudo adult, but for now, Hugo smiled whenever Nevada said it. Sometimes he would even say it back to him. It was a struggle to know whether or not Hugo actually meant it or if he was just repeating what he heard. He knew that it made his father happy whenever he said it, but he didn’t really know the meaning of it just yet.

What Hugo _did_ know was that when Nevada got really mad at him, all he really had to do was hug his leg and say those three words in his bubbly little voice and his father would just melt. No more yelling, only hugging.

By the time Nevada realized that Hugo was playing him, it was too late. The child was a troublemaker and, while it made his chest swell up with pride, it was not an easy task to manage him. He could imagine Alma nagging him for spoiling him, which was another thing that she had predicted before she was killed. She’d told him that he would spoil Hugo and she would have to deal with it. He’d rolled his eyes at her, told her she was being crazy, that kids were supposed to be bratty.

“Just because you were spoiled doesn’t mean all kids are, Nevada,” she teased.

“No, but it’s genetic,” he replied, grabbing her ass.

She had rolled her eyes but let him kiss her regardless. “It’s easy for you to say when he’ll love you for getting him everything he wants and hate me for always ruining his fun.”

“You’re being overdramatic, _cariño._ ”

As was usually the case, Alma had been right. But what was he supposed to do? He’d tried everything to get Hugo to behave better. He even bought a handful of parenting books, but the advice was always too hard or too soft for his liking. He looked up advice online. Some of what he read worked, some worked for a few days, and some didn’t stick at all. It was out of desperation that he bought an entire season’s worth of some show called _Super Nanny_ and watched it all on one of his days off. He was even taking notes and flipping through a parenting book as he watched. _How to Un-Spoil your Spoiled Child,_ the book was called.

He had been completely immersed in his research (as he liked to call it) and lost track of time completely so when José and Gael walked into his apartment at 7:30, just as they had been instructed to Nevada didn’t even notice until he heard the eruption of laughter coming from behind him. He scrambled and quickly turned off the TV, but he knew that it didn’t do much good.

“What the fuck are you _pendejos_ doing here?!”

“It’s 7:30, boss,” said Gael, snickering. “You wanted us to be here to discuss the Ricardo deal.”

“But we could come back later,” added José, smiling. “It looks like you want some alone time to learn from that English _chica_ …”

Nevada stood and turned to him. “I will rip your fucking tongue out with my _fingers,_ José,” he hissed, but the men only laughed some more. In any other circumstances, they would have cowered under the threat, but it was hard to be scared of someone who had just been watching a show about a British nanny telling him about disciplining a two-year-old.

Grumbling under his breath, Nevada turned and picked up his notes and book from the table to put away, ignoring the men as they made jokes about him becoming a softie. It had taken over a half hour for them to get on track talking about the deal they had going on.

Thinking back, maybe he should have known that something was about to go wrong. It was the calm before the storm, wasn’t it? The week before Alma’s death had been one of the happiest, most relaxed weeks of his life. Similarly, despite the stress that Hugo caused, the past few weeks had been wonderful. Nevada had a routine. He was in full control of his business again and he had no problem keeping up with his son now that he was in the habit. With all the happiness that had been going on, what else did he really expect?

On one fateful afternoon, Nevada had to leave Hugo with Gael and Ian. It was a desperate, last minute type of act. A problem had come up, Nevada had to leave Hugo to do something about it, and the only people who were available were those two.

Nevada returned to his home to grab some documents from the safe when José burst in through the door.

“What are you doing?” He yelled. “I told you to keep watch!”

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” José asked instead of replying. His tone was urgent and threw Nevada.

“Why,” he asked. “What’s going on?”

José held up his phone in a shaky grip. Nevada could hear the frantic voices on the other end of the line. “For _fuck’s sake_ , José, _what happened?!”_

“Alessandro’s men…” he stammered. “They have Hugo.”

He went on into an entire explanation but Nevada didn’t hear the rest. He didn’t need to. His heart began pounding against his chest and he felt like the room was spinning. He remembered Alma lying on the cold concrete floor, bleeding out. This could not be happening. Not again.

Cutting off José’s rambling, Nevada grabbed the phone from him. “You were supposed to be watching him,” he hissed into the receiver.

Ian’s shaky voice was heard on the other end. “I know, but—”

“ _Where are they_ ,” he demanded. “Where did they _take him_?”

“The warehouse. They—”

Nevada didn’t let him finish, just threw the phone onto the ground so hard that the screen shattered. Before he could think of what he was doing, he cocked back his elbow and swung forward, punching José hard against his mouth. He toppled to the floor and Nevada stepped over his body as he walked out of his front door, ready to go get his son back.


	5. Chapter 5

Nevada used to have no problem having arm candy. He would have many one-night stands and some times he would let a woman stick around for a couple of weeks so he could show off something pretty. They never meant much to him and there was never any threat to them because his competitors would know he wouldn’t ever give a second thought to choosing money over any of those _chicas._ Alma didn’t start out as that. She was a friend first so when he began to care for her, Nevada had tried to push her away but she just kept coming back until it became so that it was safer for them to be together because then she wasn’t just constantly putting herself in danger without him knowing.

This, of course, meant that kidnappings happened. Not regularly, but often enough that Nevada hired a private tutor to teach Alma self-defence and how to fight. She hadn’t wanted to do it; she hated fighting, but he’d reasoned with her and she couldn’t find a reasonable argument to not learn. Even still, neither of them really believed that she would be killed. It was always assumed that even if worse came to worst, Nevada would do all he could to save her.

Look where that had gotten them.

Alessandro’s warehouse was a large one. It had a handful of small rooms but was mostly open space, partly filled with high shelves that held boxes of what Nevada assumed to be documents and/or inventory.

His men were right behind him as he entered the building, just as they were accustomed to doing, but in this situation, Nevada couldn’t care less who was with him.

“Alessandro.”

The Italian, who had his back to the door, rolled his shoulders back. “Ah, Nevada Ramirez,” he said joyously. “How nice of you to drop by!”

Nevada ground his teeth and clenched his fists at his side. “Where is he,” he said, his voice low but heavy.

“Pardon?” said Alessandro, turning to face him. The men behind him shifted, ready to protect him if need be.

“Where is my son?” Nevada asked again, but the statement was more a demand than a question.

Alessandro feigned thought for a moment. “Hmm… Not telling.”

Nevada took one step forward and Alessandro’s men took three. They surrounded Alessandro and Nevada froze.

“Boys, boys, _please,_ ” Sandro made shooing motions with his hands. “This is between Nevada and me,” he said as though he didn’t have five bodyguards surrounding him.

Nevada took deep breaths, attempting but ultimately failing to keep his rage down. “He’s in there,” he said simply, motioning with his head at the door at the far end of the warehouse.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because that is where you kept Alma,” said Nevada. “Same block, same time, same warehouse. Follow that pattern and I’ll find that Hugo is behind that door.”

“But that’s so _boring_ ,” whined Sandro, throwing his hands up. “Don’t you think I’m _a bit_ more imaginative than that?”

“No I don’t, but I see you’re trying,” Nevada said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Now, hand him over.”

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, a disgusting little smirk stretching his lips. “No,” he said.

“If you so much as looked at him the wrong way, I swear I—”

“Calm down, I didn’t touch him,” said Sandro in an annoyed tone.

“You don’t use people as negotiations, Alessandro.” Nevada reminded him. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing!” he said but when he was met with silence, he shrugged. “’Kay. Maybe a little something.”

“What do you want?” Asked Nevada, his patience wearing thin.

“Your inventory,” said Alessandro, his voice still full of amusement.

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

Nevada shook his head slowly. “You’re crazy,” he said.

Sandro raised his palm out to him. “I wasn’t finished,” he said. “I also want your supplier.”

“Look—”

“And your revenue. All of it.”

Every muscle in Nevada’s body was tense with rage and he could see from the corner of his eye his men shifting in discomfort. “You want everything.”

“Every single worker, every single building, every single client,” said Alessandro, his voice now much more serious than it had been. He stalked towards Nevada, his men trailing behind him as if tied to him by an invisible rope. “Every. Single. Thing. And you know what, Ramirez? You’re going to give it to me or else I am going to butcher your son. Last time you didn’t give me what I wanted so I killed your precious Ana—”

“Alma.”

“As punishment and what did I get in return? Well the satisfaction of seeing you get down on your knees and cry like a fucking two-year-old piss-baby was quite the reward, but I’ve decided that this time, it just simply will not do. And so I’m trying a change in tactics. You give me what I want and I will spare your kid.” He was close to Nevada now, but not close enough to touch him. “You don’t cooperate and I will take what I want and slit your kid’s throat in front of you. Deal?”

Nevada stared at him, perfectly aware of why this was happening. “You think I’ve gone soft,” he stated.

Sandro chuckled and his men followed suit. “ _Cazzo,_ I _know_ you’ve gone soft,” he said. “Everyone knows it! You think we don’t notice that you barely leave your apartment for more than four hours at a time? Or that you’re never there anymore when your men go to collect overdue payments. We know you get as much delivered to you as possible just so you can keep an eye on your precious child. We know tha—oh wait. Wait!” He raised a hand and tilted his head back. “Do you hear that? We had him sedated but I think he’s waking up…”

In the sudden quiet of the warehouse, Hugo’s cries were deafening. Nevada charged towards the closed door, but one of Alessandro’s men grabbed him while the others held back Nevada’s own men back.

“You and me, Sandro,” screaming Nevada, seeing red. That was his son, that was his world in there. “You and me!”

Alessandro smirked at him and motioned for his man to let go. “You want to fight me?” he said. “Are you sure that’s wise on your part?”

Nevada rolled his shoulders and stood straight. “No guards. No weapons,” he said, his voice recovering its calm tone. “Just you and me and I will show you just how soft I’ve become.”

“As tempted as I am by I the offer, I am going to have to decline,” he said, turning away but Nevada’s words stopped him.

“Who’s gone soft now?”

Sandro laughed. “Nice try, Ramirez.”

“If I win, I get my son and my business and you don’t come near my family ever again,” said Nevada, ignoring him. “If I lose, you get everything.”

“Everything?”

“Every single fucking thing.”

Alessandro approached him, strolling leisurely towards him even though he stood tensed with his hands balled into fists. “See, Nevada, I am going to get everything regardless but I do find your offer interesting,” he said. “You are certainly confident in yourself.”

“I am.”

Sandro hummed, thinking it over for a few moments before nodding. “Why not?” he said, smiling. “It’d give me a nice satisfaction to bring you to the brink of death before killing that bastard of yours.”

The men had to grab Nevada as he charges towards him, ready to rip him to shreds for what he said about Hugo. Sandro wagged a finger at him mockingly. “Ah, ah, ah, Nevada! Not just yet. Boys, go wait outside.”

Collectively, Nevada’s and Alessandro’s men left the warehouse. Sandro’s walked straight and Nevada’s trailed behind, throwing the occasional glance over their shoulders at him but Nevada didn’t acknowledge that. Instead, he removed his jacket, belt, and jewellery, as did Alessandro, until they were both left in nothing but their pants and undershirts. For a long moment, the two of them stood, not breaking eye contact, and waited for the other to make the first move.

Nevada looked at the man in front of him: pale and wide. Not very tall but he had enough bulk muscle to make up for it. His eyes were light blue and almost transparent under a pair of thick black eyebrows. He was a handsome man with a friendly face, always supporting a smile. Nevada hated him more than anything.

Alessandro almost ruined him two years ago and he decided to try again but there was no way in hell Nevada would let him win this time.

He swung first. Alessandro dodged his fist but Nevada was quick to regain momentum and this time, his fist connected right below Sandro’s ribcage. The Italian was quick to retaliate, striking Nevada across his chest and kicking in his knee but as he fell, he brought Sandro down with him.

It was a mess and Nevada was seeing red, partially from anger and partially from the blood spilling everywhere. One punch knocked a tooth out of its socket to the back of his throat and he swallowed it to keep from choking. Then he spat the blood in Alessandro’s eyes before slamming his head down on the concrete.

Nevada was fairly sure he had a concussion and that his kneecap was displaced. He was sure that his jaw was broken and that a couple of his ribs were bruised. His white undershirt was quickly becoming a sickly red colour but Alessandro was in no better shape. Through it all, Nevada could hear Hugo’s cries get louder and louder in the other room.

And that’s all it really came down to. This was about Nevada getting his son back. That was his sole motivation in all of this and _fuck_ being perceived as weak. As far as he was concerned, his love for Hugo made him stronger, stronger than he had ever been.

In one moment, the men were fighting each other with their bare hands and in the next, Alessandro was holding a pocket knife. Small but sharp, he swung it at Nevada, slicing open his shirt and leaving a long but relatively shallow cut across his chest. “Should have known you’d pull something like this, Sandro,” he panted. “You’ve always been a cheat.”

With difficulty, Nevada was able to knock the blade from Alessandro’s hand. “You’re the weak one, you _pinche pendejo._ You are!”

There were kicks and hits and blows until Nevada was sitting on Sandro’s stomach, his hands wrapped around the Italian’s thick neck. “You should never have come after me, _cabron._ ”

Sandro struggled against his grip, his short nails scraping at his hands and peeling back his skin but Nevada didn’t budge. He watched carefully as the Italian’s skin turned pink, then red, then purple, then blue. His eyes wide and bulging and bloodshot, his pupils wide. His lifeless body lay in blood and dirt, dead eyes staring up at Nevada as he knelt over him, back in the same exact spot where the love of his life bled out.

When the blood pumping through his widened veins stopped making so much noise in his ears, Nevada let go of the man underneath him and stood. It took a moment for the adrenaline to slow down and allow him to return to his natural state.

Nevada let out a breath, wiped the blood from his eyes, and followed to the back of the warehouse, the sound of Hugo’s desperate screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cazzo - dick  
> pinche pendejo - fucking asshole  
> cabron - fucker


	6. Chapter 6

There were a lot of arguments with the doctors and the nurses. They kept telling Nevada that if he wasn’t promptly treated for the gash on his chest, he was in danger of suffering a significant amount of blood loss, but he didn’t let them come anywhere near him until Hugo’s (very minor) injuries were treated. He stood by his son, holding a towel against his bleeding chest, until he fell asleep. Only then did he let the doctors stitch him up.

Hugo woke up on the drive home. He woke up crying and panicked. He looked around the car for a terrified moment before seeing Nevada sitting next to him in the backseat. He climbed onto his lap and leaned his head against his chest.

When they got home, Nevada gave his son a bath. He washed away the dirt and blood from him and let him splash around in the tub while Nevada washed himself up over the bathroom sink. The two of them kept checking on the other in the mirror. Nevada checked to make sure Hugo was not breaking down and Hugo checked to make sure Nevada was still there.

Hugo had nightmares that night. He didn’t know enough words to be able to describe them, but just thinking about it would make him scream. Nevada, who had been having trouble falling asleep despite his exhaustion, had rushed into his bedroom the second he heard the distress and carried Hugo, sobbing into his shoulder, back to his room. Nevada lay on his bed with Hugo’s small, thin limbs wrapped around his torso. The two of them slept soundly after that.

The morning brought more tears and a two-year-old that refused to let go of Nevada. Maria stopped by and made the two of them breakfast and played with Hugo, who was feeling slightly better. But that didn’t last very long.

She was back again the next day. She always came in the morning. Sometimes she came alone, sometimes with her boyfriend, and sometimes with her mother-in-law. She liked to make colourful breakfasts—waffles, pancakes, sunny-side-up eggs, bacon, fruits, jelly, and nuts. Nevada complained that she would give him a heart attack. Hugo liked the happy faces she made on his plate.

Every day brought a new visitor. Someone to come by and help distract Hugo and get his mind off of the trauma he had suffered. Gael brought with him new toys for Hugo to play with but Hugo didn’t like any of them. He wasn’t a fan of trucks and wrestling figures. Nevada scolded Gael for not knowing his son well enough. The next time Gael stopped by, he came bearing chocolates and candies. Nevada scolded him for trying to ruin Hugo’s teeth but Hugo loved it all.

José didn’t bring toys but rather movies. He and Nevada sat on the couch with Hugo between them as they all watched all three of The Lion King movies. Hugo cried when Mufasa died and clung quickly onto his father’s arm. They skipped to the _Hakuna Matata_ part and Hugo started smiling again. Nevada kept picturing what it would be like if Alma was there with them. Instead of José, Alma was the third person on the couch. She’d have loved that.

Nevada and Hugo slept in the same bed for weeks, until the nightmares finally disappeared and Hugo no longer woke up crying. Even still, the two-year-old always ran into his father’s room after waking up.

It wasn’t all that unexpected, really. Of course the healing process would take a long, long time. Of course it would take ages for Hugo to come to terms with what had taken place. Nevada was just thankful that his son wasn’t scared of him. That had been his greatest fear. Walking towards that room at the back of the warehouse while being covered by blood, all he could picture was Hugo cowering when he saw him but that hadn’t happened. Hugo hadn’t seen the red covering Nevada’s skin and clothing; he had only seen his father and he clung to him desperately, running into his arms without hesitation.

“It’s okay, _mi sol,_ it’s okay,” he had whispered as Hugo wept.

 

Alessandro had been buried in a graveyard somewhere in rural Italy. There was a new man in charge of his gang, but he didn’t want to touch Nevada. Likewise, neither did the leader of any other gang in the state of New York. _Fuck_ that. They had all assumed that Nevada had gone soft. That after having had a wife and a kid, he wasn’t the hard motherfucker he used to be, but they were wrong. Now they respected him. And they respected his family.

Alma would have been proud.

Hugo was growing up. He was growing taller. His closet was full of brand new clothes. His older clothes had grown too short. Pants looked like capris and shorts looked like briefs. His hair was long and curly and was constantly in his eyes. Nevada gave him a buzz cut and got yelled at by every woman in his life (and Gael).

He shrugged it off. He knew Alma would have liked it.

Nevada commissioned an artist to paint a Sun in Hugo’s room. A big Sun, opposite the window, bright yellow against the sky blue paint of the walls. It was intricate but still targeted at children. It’d cost him thousands of dollars but Hugo loved it. When he saw it for the first time, he pointed to it and yelled, “ _Mi sol!_ ” He then turned to Nevada, pointed to himself, and yelled with equal enthusiasm, “ _Tu sol!_ ” It had taken everything for Nevada to keep from crying.

 

Hugo’s third birthday was coming up. Nevada was planning a party at the biggest children’s arcade he could find. He planned on inviting some of the friends Hugo’d made in daycare (the best daycare in Manhattan, mind you). There was going to a giant cake and a shitload of decorations. Maria was helping with the planning because she, like Alma, insisted that Nevada got too tacky when he was left to make all his own decisions.

She had given him the name and number of the best cake decorator she knew and she had made a list of things that would look good on a cake for three year olds, as well as a list of things that would _not_ look good on a cake for three year olds. Nevada pulled out his cellphone and made the call.

It was nice to have something to look forward to between the busy life that he had. Nevada finally felt like his old self, but better. His life had a purpose other than money. The most important thing in his life was his son. Everything else took a backseat.

Suddenly, in the middle of his conversation with the cake maker, there was a chorus of crashing coming from the kitchen. He hung up the phone and ran to see what had happened, only to find Hugo standing on top of a pile of every single pot and pan Nevada owned, _laughing. Laughing!!!_

Nevada tried to look at his son angrily, warningly, but he couldn’t help but smile. He walked up and scooped the giggling child into his arms. “How is it that I run an entire city’s worth of drugs,” he said, “but I can’t handle my three year old son?”

Hugo nuzzled against Nevada’s chest before jumping down and running off. Nevada watched, smiling.

It was tough. It really, really was.

But he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mi sol - my sun  
> tu sol - your sun

**Author's Note:**

> Mi sol – my Sun  
> Mierda – shit   
> Preciosa – precious  
> Te amo – I love you  
> Te amo también – I love you, too


End file.
